


You're not a victim.

by TVFangirl04



Series: Reader x Winchesters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Menstruation, Nightmares, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Plays Guitar, Warlocks, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:53:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TVFangirl04/pseuds/TVFangirl04
Summary: After being saved by Sam and Dean, you must spend a few days living with them at the motel until you're injuries get better.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Reader
Series: Reader x Winchesters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140044
Kudos: 24





	You're not a victim.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing fan-fiction. Please let me know what you did and didn't like and suggest any ideas to me. I hope you enjoy :)

Reaching without hesitation, you pick up the pistol and shoot.  
The loud gunshot startles you, and the weapon drops out of your hand, hitting the floor. You're lying on the ground ever since that witch threw you violently against the wall.  
You're bruised and bloody, and every bone and muscle in your body is aching.  
Looking down at your leg, which is throbbing in pain, you can see your knee is dislocated, and even the slightest movement causes you agonizing grief.  
"Hey..hey.. don't try to move."  
Dean crouches down next to you and rests his hand on your shoulder. Tears fill your eyes as Dean carefully examines the rest of your wounds, making sure to be ever so gentle as he checks each limb.  
"Do you mind?" he asks politely, as he points to your torso, indicating he wants to examine that area.  
"Go ahead," you reply.  
Dean lifts your bloodied top slightly, looks at your stomach for a brief moment, and then pulls your top back down.  
"Okay, as far as I can tell, you've got some broken ribs, a sprained elbow, and a dislocated knee," Dean says as he looks down at you.  
You nod your head as a single tear falls.  
"Don't you worry though, we'll get you patched up. Soon you'll be good as new."  
Dean's smile comforts you. 

Hearing footsteps, you begin to panic immediately. Dean reassures you it's just his brother.  
"Sammy, in here," Dean calls out in his low baritone voice.  
Sam enters the room, holding his gun. He nods at Dean, assuring him that the other witch is also dead and that they are now safe.  
Sam sees you lying on the ground and rushes over to help, stepping over the dead witch lying in the middle of the room in the process.  
"Hey, it's okay. They're dead. They can't hurt you anymore," he says, crouching down next to Dean.  
"Yeah, we know, she killed the other one."  
Sam looks at you, his eyes wide in shock. Dean explains.  
"That bitch used her powers to send my gun flying across the other side of the room. Luckily it landed right in front of Y/N, and she immediately grabbed it and aimed it at her."  
Dean smiles at you.  
"You're an excellent shot, by the way."  
You want to chuckle and tell him you have never fired a gun in your life, but you're in too much pain, so instead, you smile back. 

The impala makes it to the motel that the guys are staying at just as it begins to rain.  
Dean opens the door to the backseat, and he and Sam assist you out of the vehicle. You're still in a lot of pain, and each movement makes you want to scream, but you know that they are trying their best to be as gentle as possible.  
Dean holds you in his arms as Sam scrambles to open the door, and you all hurry in before the rain gets heavy.  
Inside the small motel room, Dean carefully lies you on the closest bed, while Sam is already getting the first aid kit. They had already reset your dislocated knee back at the abandoned house. However, it needs to be elevated and iced immediately.  
You position yourself as comfortable as possible and quickly down the pain medication Sam hands you.  
"Thank you."  
Dean walks over to the small fridge underneath the television and grabs three beers. He offers you one before he and Sam sit on the bed next to you.  
"Y/N, is there anybody we can call for you?" Sam asks softly.  
"No…"  
Both of them look at you with concern.  
"I don't have any family. It's just me. Has been for a long time."  
You take a long sip of your beer.  
"What about friends? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?" Dean asks curiously.  
You shake your head.  
"I’m a bit of a lone wolf. I don’t have close relationships with anybody,” you reply, “I was a runaway kid. I am constantly moving state to state, working bars, and hustling money. I don’t stay in one place for long.”  
Sam and Dean look at each other and then back to you.  
“Wow, you sound like the female version of us.” Dean raises his eyebrow.  
Sam nods agreeing.  
“So, how did you end up at that abandoned house?” Sam asks.  
You sigh loudly. You’re embarrassed to say, but you owe both the explanation.  
“I..er.. had met the male one at the local bar. We drank, we flirted, and he invited me back to his house...”  
You start to blush and stop mid-sentence. You can tell by Sam and Dean’s facial expressions that both know where your explanation is heading. Dean can’t hide the smirk on his face.  
“Hey, no judgment. You saved my life tonight,” Dean responds. “I am sorry your one-night-stand turned out to be a manipulative son-of-a-bitch warlock.”  
You take a deep breath.  
“Before we leave, he buys me one last drink. Our conversation continued, and that’s all I remember before I blacked out…” you stop mid-sentence again, as you can feel yourself starting to get emotional.  
You’re not one to show vulnerability to strangers that you only met a few hours ago.  
Dean and Sam see the pain behind your eyes and don’t pressure you to keep talking. They seem very genuine, and they did save your life. You know you can somewhat trust them.  
“I woke up tied to the chair, not knowing what was going on. That’s when I saw her. Together they were making some type of potion? I guess that’s what witches do, right?”  
The brothers nod. Sam explains the two of them had been tracking the female for a few days. They had no idea she had a brother who was helping lure in the victims. They spare you the gory details of what may have been your fate.  
“I thought I was done for…” your voice breaks as you wipe away a tear.  
Sam reaches for your hand and squeezes it gently.  
Dean recalls finding you tied up alone in the basement while the ‘evil sons-a-bitches” had left momentarily.  
“You asked if I was a hunter,” Dean says, taking the last swig of his beer. “You come across a few of us before?”  
You nod. Having worked in many bars since you were sixteen, you have met your fair share of hunters. You have some idea of the supernatural and what lurks in the dark. But you have never come across anything, till now.  
“Never thought I’d ever kill a witch,” you say .“I thought they were only affected by iron?”  
Sam and Dean seem impressed by that question. Sam explains the witch-killing bullets in each of their guns. 

You chat with Sam and Dean a little bit longer, making yourselves more acquainted. Sam’s only a year older than you, although he towers over your petite frame. You appreciate their company and their conversation. When Dean offers you the first shower, you accept it despite knowing how difficult it will be. You hobble over with the boys' assistance to the small bathroom, which is barely big enough for the shower, toilet, and sink situated in it. You sit on the toilet seat and plan how you will approach getting undressed with your injuries. It will be painful, but there is no way you can ask one of the boys to assist.  
Dean turns the shower on for you while Sam grabs some clean clothes for you. You thank them as they shut the door, and you are left by yourself.  
Okay, you can do this.  
You unbutton your distressed jeans (courtesy of Sam, who ripped them to reset your dislocated knee) and then wriggle them off while remaining seated. Your other items of clothing are less awkward to remove one-handed.  
Now to get into the shower.  
Using the shower frame as support, you step into the warm running water. You wish you could wash your hair as you soap your body with the motel body wash, but that is not a task you are willing to attempt tonight.  
It’s late, and you’re tired, and you can’t thank Sam and Dean enough for being so concerned about you. When Dean is adamant you take his bed to sleep in for the night, you feel guilty.  
“Please, there is no way you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” he tells you.  
“Plus he lost ‘rock, paper, scissors’, so his loss,’” Sam laughs.  
You slip under the covers of the single bed and say goodnight to the boys, who say they’re staying awake a little longer.  
By the time your head touches the pillow and you shut your eyes, you drift off to sleep.

“Now, if someone can drop me off at the bar I was at last night, I can be out your way.”  
It is morning, and after a restless sleep, you are feeling significantly worse for wear. You do, however, want to stop being an inconvenience to the two brothers. You know that babysitting a crippled 23-year-old is not how they want to spend their day.  
“Are you kidding?” Dean exclaims. “Where are you gonna go? You can barely walk, let alone drive.”  
He has a point. You really are in no state to be driving. But you must convince him otherwise.  
“I have to get my car. All my belongings are inside,” you explain. “And I can’t stay here...” you sigh deeply. “I want to leave this town and never come back.”  
Sam and Dean see the fear behind your eyes and understand your feelings. Unfortunately, you’re in no condition to look after yourself, at least for a few days. Both brothers’ glance at each other, and without words, you can tell they have an unspoken conversation.  
“Stay with us,” Sam eventually breaks the silence and sits on the bed next to you.  
Dean walks over with his cup of coffee and sits on Sam’s bed.  
“We’ll pick up your car, and I’ll drive it. Sam will follow us in the impala. We will get out of town, and in a few days, when your injuries are better, we can go our separate ways. How’s that sound?”  
Dean and Sam wait for your response, as you consider their offer.  
“Uh, sounds great,” you say hesitantly.  
You smile at them, and Sam pats you on the back gently. You feel safe in their presence, and you know they will look out for you. However, living with two strapping males is going to be a change. 

You wake up in the passenger seat of your Suzuki Vitara, startled and gasping for air.  
“Woah, Woah, breathe Y/N.”  
Dean reaches his hand over to you and places it on your leg. His touch snaps you back into reality, and you catch your breath.  
“Sorry. Bad dream,” you respond, embarrassed.  
You’re slumped in the passenger chair, having dozed off after lunch. You reposition yourself, so you are sitting up straight, and Dean pulls his hand away.  
“No need to apologize. Just making sure you’re okay.”  
He looks over at you with an empathetic smile before his eyes return to the long straight road ahead.  
It has been two hours since you left the fast-food venue where you had all eaten. Now you are on the road heading to the next motel, far away from that abandoned house in Ohio.  
It feels strange watching someone else drive your car. A beaten-up car that you have spent a lot of time in but hasn’t let you down yet. A car that is practically your home. You realize Dean is listening to one of his classic rock cassettes but has turned the volume down low while you napped. To fill the silence, you turn the volume up. Immediately Dean grins as he taps his fingers to the Black Sabbath tune.  
“If this ain’t your type of music, I’m sorry,” he says, unapologetically. “You should have ridden with Sam. God knows what type of prissy music he’s listening to in Baby.” He mutters the last sentence almost to himself, and you can’t help but smirk.  
“Baby? You must love your car just a much as I love mine,” you chuckle.  
“Oh, you have no idea,” Dean replies. 

The two of you drive another mile or so before Dean asks what’s on his mind.  
“Let me know if I’m overstepping here, and I’ll back right off,” he begins. “But why do you prefer being alone all the time?”  
He looks at you curiously, and you take a moment before you respond.  
“Hmm, well…” you pause for another moment. “I guess my upbringing was less than ideal—single mum with drug addiction. When I left home, I didn’t have any money. For a few years, I stayed at a homeless shelter while I worked odd jobs. Cleaner, call centres, bars, and restaurants, you name it. This car belonged to someone I used to work with…”  
You pause again as you start to frown. Dean looks at you and can see you are sad.  
“We don’t have to talk about it,” he assures you.  
You appreciate his concern, but you continue.  
“Berta was a colleague of mine. In this small bar in Indiana, back when I was nineteen. When she found out I was still living on the streets, she set up a bed at her apartment for me. She took me in like the daughter she never had.”  
Remembering your friend brings a smile back to your face for a moment. You tell Dean about some happy memories you have from that time in your life.  
“I thought things had finally changed for me, and then…she got sick. Pneumonia. Soon she was gone, and I was alone again. I guess I haven’t let myself become attached to anyone since. It hurts too much to lose them...”  
Saying that last sentence out loud for the first time stings a little. You haven’t thought of Berta in a while, and suddenly you miss her.  
You stare at Dean as he comprehends what you have told him, his face somber. He clears his throat.  
“You know, Y/N, Sam and I lost our dad a little while ago. And our mum died when Sam was just a baby. I don’t like talking about it either, but just know that we understand what it’s like to lose someone you care about. I know you only just met us, and in a few days, you’ll be on your own again, but for now…” Dean looks you in the eye, “We are here for you.”  
You feel your eyes start to well, so you quickly change the subject.  
“You know, you boys have a tough exterior, but inside…you have a lot of heart. I’ve met hunters who would have risked my life to kill the thing they’re after. You guys seem different.”  
Dean nods, agreeing.  
“I have this motto; saving people, hunting things, the family business—notice which one comes first.”

Sam pulls into the motel car park while you’re arguing with Dean about who should carry your bag.  
“I’m fine, Dean. I can handle it,” you argue, as Dean swats your hand away from the oversized bag.  
“Hell no, let me do it,” he says sternly.  
Sam laughs at both your stubbornness.  
“So it took five hours in a car alone with Dean for him to finally get on your nerves,” Sam teases, as he walks over. He reaches into the boot of your car and grabs the duffel bag himself.  
“Problem solved,” he quips.  
“Jerk,” you say, shaking your head in annoyance.  
Sam and Dean look at each other instantly and laugh. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what is so funny, and they assure you they’ll tell you later.  
A Sunday night with the Winchesters involves beer, watching football, and looking through the newspaper for the next hunt. You sit on Sam’s bed with your guitar rested across your lap. It is not ideal to be noodling on the guitar when you’re practically one-handed. Your elbow is still swollen and currently in a sling. But fingerpicking with your other hand is still a possibility, and this is usually how you spend your relaxation time.  
Dean is too invested in the television to be listening to whatever noise you’re making. He yells at the small box television in frustration, and you can't help but giggle. Sam, you notice, is going through the newspaper laid out on the small round coffee table. He glances over at you every so often, leaning slightly closer to hear what you are playing. 

“Sam, come here.”  
Sam looks up from the paper, pretending like he hasn’t been secretly watching you for the last ten minutes. You gesture for him to come to sit next to you.  
“You ever play guitar before?” you ask as you continue noodling.  
He shakes his head.  
“When I was at Stanford, a mate of mine used to play. I’m not really a music type of guy.”  
“Yeah, he’s more into books. Such a nerd.” Dean interrupts, overhearing the conversation.  
The game has cut too commercial.  
Sam rolls his eyes at Dean’s comment.  
“Do me a favour and hold this for me?” you ask.  
Sam takes the acoustic guitar from your lap and holds it against his body. You smile at how awkward he looks as if this is the most far out of his comfort zone he could be—a guy who kills monsters with deadly weapons, uncomfortable with a musical instrument.  
You scoot a bit closer to him.  
“Okay, so what you want to do is put your fingers here and here.”  
You point to the fingerboard of the guitar and show him which strings to press. His large hands easily comply. With your able hand, you strum.  
“This is a G5 chord,” you say, noticing the small smile on Sam’s face. “Okay, next, let’s do a Bb5.”  
Again, you show him where to place his fingers before you strum.  
You and Sam sit on his bed as you teach him a few more chords. By the time the next commercial break comes around, he can almost play the intro of Smoke on the Water himself.  
“You’re a fast learner, Sam. Must be cause you’re such a nerd.”  
You make sure to emphasize the word nerd loud enough that Dean hears you. He whips his head around to see you raising an eyebrow at him, encouraging him to say a compliment.  
“Yeah, yeah, he’s alright. He’s no Jimi Hendrix,” Dean mutters. 

It’s the middle of the night, and you’ve just woken up from another nightmare. The room is pitch black, and you scramble to find your phone lying next to you so you can use it as a light. You kick off your blanket as you feel overheated. You take some deep breaths.  
It’s okay; it’s just a dream.  
Only it wasn’t just a dream. Witches and warlocks do exist. So do werewolves, vampires, spirits, and demons. They all exist, and it has never bothered you before. But now you have seen them with your own eyes. You were tortured by them. How are you supposed to forget a memory like that?  
You hobble over to the small kitchen to get yourself a glass of water. You can hear Sam snoring softly. You try to make as little noise as possible as your feet patter on the wooden floors. In a few days, these boys will go off on their next hunt, and you will be by yourself. Now is not the time to become a scared little girl with nightmares. You finish your drink thinking you haven’t disturbed anyone.

“Y/N? That you?”  
You’re startled by Dean’s voice. He turns on the lamp next to his bed and groans. His eyes are squinting; he looks over at you. You stand in your tank top and sweatpants, staring at him for a moment.  
“Yeah, it is. Sorry if I woke you up. I just needed some water,” you say softly.  
“You okay?” Dean asks, not convinced by your tone of voice.  
He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s only got boxers on, and you try your best not to stare at his toned bare abdomen.  
“Okay, I had another nightmare,” you admit, sighing.  
You walk over and sit down next to him, and he immediately puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close to his body. Without thinking, you lean your head against his chest, feeling his radiating body heat.  
“I hate it, Dean,” you say. Your voice breaks. “I hate feeling like a victim.”  
As a child, you felt small and weak. This started with your mother and her many abusive boyfriends. You have tried your best throughout the years to build up a bravado, where you no longer feel small or intimidated by anyone or anything. For years you have been independent and not needed anyone’s help. Things feel different now.  
“Can I tell you something?” Dean asks as he brings his other arm across you so he can hug you. “I saw you two nights ago. I saw you on the ground in pain and scared. But you grabbed that gun, and you didn’t hesitate. You pulled the trigger and killed the bitch, without letting fear stop you. You’re a hero for that.”  
Dean looks down at you.  
“I’m serious. You saved my life. You’re a hero, not a victim. Don’t forget that.”  
By this point, your smiling, even though tears roll down your face and land on Dean’s chest. You quickly wipe them away and apologize.  
“Gosh, I think all my years of suppressed emotions have finally caught up to me. I feel like I’m constantly crying next to you,” you joke, and Dean laughs with you.  
“Don’t worry about it. I live with Sammy… he cries more than you.”  
“Hey, you be nice to your brother. He’s a good soul.”  
“Yeah, I know. But I have to tease him out of principal.”  
After one last hug, you tell Dean you’re okay. You hobble back to the couch, determined not to wake till morning. 

Shit.  
Buying tampons were on your to-do-list a few days ago, but then you met the Winchesters, and the thought slipped your mind till now.  
Rummaging through your bag, you are desperate to find a stray one that may have fallen out of your toiletries bag. Sam and Dean catch you in the act.  
“Lost something?” Dean asks casually, scratching his head.  
“Erm, not exactly. I just need to go to the store for a minute. You guys need anything?”  
You think you’ve asked innocently enough that they won’t ask further questions.  
“What do you need? Maybe we have something,” Sam asks as he walks over to you.  
Yeah, I’m sure you have tampons just lying around, you think sarcastically.  
“Nope, I’m certain you don’t,” you reply. “It’s fine guys; there’s a store five minutes from here. I won’t be long.”  
You’re blushing. Sam and Dean are looking at you, puzzled as they try to figure out what you would possibly need at eight o’clock in the morning.  
“I still don’t think you should be driving. You can’t drive stick with a dodgy arm and leg. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it,” Dean offers.  
You bury your head into your hands as you think about what you are going to do. Eventually, they will find out whether you want them to or not. You look at them both as you sigh heavily.  
“Okay, if you won’t let me do it myself, then one of you needs to buy me tampons.”  
They immediately look at each other, taken aback by the statement. Sam then starts laughing.  
“Dude, you offered to go,” he says between laughs.  
Dean gives him a death stare.  
“But if you can’t handle it, I guess…” Sam looks down at you and pulls you in close for a side hug.  
Dean’s face is less than impressed, but one glance at you and he begrudgingly smiles.  
“You think I can’t handle buying some tampons? I hunt monsters, for Christ’s sake.”  
Dean grabs the keys to the impala and walks towards the door. As he opens it, he turns behind him to look at you. “Anything else?”  
You shake your head with a smirk on your face. “Thanks, Dean,” you reply as you wave him out the door. 

Fifteen minutes later and Dean is back with tampons, cherry pie, and more beer. He throws the box of tampons at you from a distance, and you catch them one-handedly before he gives you a wink.  
“Sammy, don’t you dare sync up with her. I know how girls’ hormones are” Dean teases.  
“Haha, very funny,” Sam rolls his eyes.  
When you finish in the bathroom, you walk over to the boys at the coffee table. You stand behind Dean, one hand on his shoulder, and lean down to kiss him on the cheek.  
“So, what’s the plan for today?”

Saying goodbye to Sam and Dean is tough. You genuinely feel like you have found a family in the five days you have gotten to know them. But they have a hunt to go on, and you need to find a job and start making some money again.  
“Thanks for everything, boys,” you look up at them both and smile. “I appreciate all your help.”  
“We enjoyed having you around, Y/N. Hopefully, this is just a see you later,” Sam says before he wraps his big arms around you for a hug.  
Dean looks at you with a severe face. He passes your phone to you while you’re wondering how he even got his hands on it in the first place.  
“If you’re ever in any kind of trouble, you ring. Okay?” He looks directly into your eyes, and you nod. Staring into his beautiful green eyes, you smile.  
“Come here,” he says as he pulls you in for a hug.  
As your face buries into his chest, you whisper just loud enough for him to hear.  
‘I’ll miss you.’  
“No chick flick moments,” Dean laughs, you finally break from the hug. “I promise we’ll see you again.” 

As you listen to the impala drive away, you realize that this goodbye is different from every other you have had in your life. This one isn’t final. Just temporary.


End file.
